


The Threat of Explosion

by youreallsofuckingrude



Category: Castlevania (Cartoon)
Genre: Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Canon Self-Harm, Courtship, First Time, Head Shaving, Hector is an awkward turtle, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Isaac is a Little Shit, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Murder, Past Child Abuse, Praise Kink, Rimming, Season/Series 02, Slow Build, manipulation for the greater good
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-30
Updated: 2020-04-24
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:40:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23388253
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/youreallsofuckingrude/pseuds/youreallsofuckingrude
Summary: Isaac acts decisively to keep Hector from siding with Carmilla.A.K.A. The seduction of HectororIsaac thinks Hector deserves nice things.
Relationships: Hector (Castlevania)/Isaac (Castlevania)
Comments: 77
Kudos: 270





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> All mistakes are my own.
> 
> Recommended listening: [Gone](https://youtu.be/3HwfxwzyLcE) by VÉRITÉ
> 
> Check out my [Tumblr](https://youreallsofuckingrude.tumblr.com/) for more Forge Husbands edits and updates on my writing <3

Isaac is aware of Hector watching him, had heard the over-eager tread of his boots come to a stop outside of the bathing chamber.

He ignores him in favour of his own reflection. 

Right hand pulling the skin taut, he drags a straight razor over his scalp. Each swathe of prickly growth he clears reminds him of night hordes cutting a path through Wallachia—blood and fire left behind rather than shaving soap. His left hand moves by memory, tool held with a loose assiduousness borne from years of use.

As a boy he would do this same chore with his eyes closed, small hands mapping the contours of his head by touch.

The memory slides through his skull without catching burs. 

Exhale.

Inhale.

There is much to be said about the comforts of Dracula’s castle, strange though it may seem to have hot water on demand and self-filling baths. Gently, he cleans the blade on a cloth and drags it over his skin again.

A choked breath as his shoulder blades shift.

Hector’s gaze is a burning thing, fixed on the flex of muscle and scar tissue.

“Do you require my assistance with _something?_ ” Isaac sets down the razor and leans against the edge of the stone counter.

Startled out of his trance, Hector blinks and meets his heavy-lidded stare in the mirror. “I’m sorry to disturb you," he says, mostly to Isaac's forehead. He smiles awkwardly, licking his lips. "Dracula asked that we discuss our next steps. He implied that we should treat about it this evening.” 

“And you thought to corner me in the bath?” Isaac raises a sardonic brow as Hector huffs. “You have been spending too much time with Carmilla.”

Mention of the vampiress has Hector twitching with quickly repressed panic. “If you’re worried about her influencing me, you needn’t be. I’m committed to our master Dracula and his vision.” The phrase is rote and quick, like a prayer.

Isaac’s smile is shrewd. He doesn’t buy a word of it. “It is merely an observation. Let us _treat_ then as generals in your forge. I shall meet you there when I am finished.”

He quirks another smile, letting Hector see that he’s amenable to this game if that’s what they are playing at. He lifts his arms behind his head to resume his task—

Too fast.

A twinge of pain in Isaac's ribs has him hesitating, razor frozen mid stroke.

Despite his dismissal, Hector is suddenly there to help him. He lays a hand upon Isaac’s neck, the other reaching out to grab the razor. Chest pressed to his shoulder, Hector succeeds where he faltered. The scrape of metal against the grain of his hair is loud. 

Isaac doesn’t flinch or turn away. The subtle flare of his nostrils is the only indication that he’s aware of Hector’s touch. 

“What have you done to yourself?” Hector whispers unthinkingly, almost too soft.

Isaac doesn’t lie. This close, he will not fool himself into thinking that Hector cannot see the darker bloom of bruising across his ribs. “A token of my last meeting with Godbrand," he says.

A disgruntled noise.

Hector shifts his eyes. The pleased warmth in their blue depths reveals how delighted he is that Isaac's not too proud to accept help.

“I can say with complete sincerity that I have not missed the brute, wherever he’s gone off to.”

Isaac chuckles without mirth. “Do not let the other vampires hear you say that. They may suspect that you had a hand in his disappearance.”

Hector pinches his brows together, oblivious to the dark undertone of the statement. He cleans the razor and moves closer, hand rubbing tenderly against a spot he needs to shave again. “I don’t like that he hurt you,” he mutters.

 _So naïve_ , Isaac thinks of his colleague. Always wanting to protect others when he should be watching his own back. “Do you think I am a creature to mend, Forgemaster?” he asks. He doesn’t miss Hector’s eye roll.

“Something tells me that you would make a poor pet.” The comment is callous, but it lacks bite. Unhurriedly Hector moves to Isaac’s other side.

Either proximity has made Hector entirely too relaxed or goading has made Isaac quick. He catches the other man’s wrist before he can lower the razor to his skin.

Meeting Hector with a flat stare, Isaac pulls his hand to his mouth and nips at his knuckles, teeth flashing sharp and white—a threat. “You are not wrong.”

Hector jumps at the contact and tries to hide it, but there’s no mistaking his flush.

“Er—”

“Are you going to kiss my wounds better, Hector?” Isaac drags his lips over his knuckles, breath moistening his skin.

Hector goes even redder and snatches his hand back. “Hell,” he says, dipping his chin. _So bashful._ “Warn a man before you try to seduce him.”

Isaac doesn’t answer, enjoying the way that he squirms in the quiet.

“That _is_ what you’re doing...Isn’t it?” Hector asks, his expression suddenly closing off.

It occurs to Isaac, then, that Hector has had little experience with humans that has not ended in rejection. He may despise his innocence, but he does not care for the way that the other man braces his body for rebuff, tensing and hardening where he should be soft.

“If that is what you would like,” he says, at last.

Hector fiddles with the razor and scuffs his boot over the polished floor. “Why?”

“Why would I seduce you or why would I seek your consent to do so?”

“The first.”

Isaac glances out the window, eyes narrowing on the sun dipping below the horizon. “I doubt my answer will satisfy you.”

“The truth is rarely satisfying,” Hector insists, some confidence creeping back into his tone. “But I’m asking for it nonetheless.”

Isaac hums an acknowledgement, eyes gravitating back to the mirror as Hector steps forward to resume his task. “The truth is that you are a handsome man." He tilts his face downwards under the guiding pressure of Hector’s hands. “I believe you would be more so in the throes of sexual pleasure. As an admirer of beauty, it would please me greatly to take you to bed.”

Hector glances up from his work, face stricken, and Isaac’s brow tenses very slightly.

“You are unfamiliar with bluntness from your lovers?”

“I'm unfamiliar with lovers.”

The words must cost Hector, because he cuts his eyes from the mirror and the simmering heat in Isaac’s gaze.

The razor drags, revealing more and more smooth skin.

When Isaac speaks next, it’s with the caution of a hunter reluctant to spook their prey. “I saw crocus blooms the same colour of your eyes once,” he remarks, apropos. “I am not one for herbal magics, but they are fascinating plants. Many species thrive in the most difficult of circumstances.”

“I don’t need your pity,” Hector snaps, cleaning the blade more vigorously than required.

“And you don’t have it,” Isaac admonishes. “That is not the point of this story.” Shave finished, he turns to face the skittish creature at his back.

Hector stiffens when he cups his cheek but he doesn't pull away from the touch.

“If a crocus has not opened it’s petals, it has likely not been given the incentive to do so. Perhaps it is has not yet experienced the call of Spring.”

“That’s—” Hector shakes his head and swallows. "A horrible metaphor. And if you're suggesting that you'd like to court me, I’m not worth the effort.”

“I believe that is for me to decide.” Isaac leans forward, his mouth brushing the corner of Hector’s. “Are you going to let me seduce you—" a flick of tongue, "— _Crocus?”_

Isaac can’t tell if it’s the heat in Hector’s face, the close air of the chamber, or the primal magic sparking in his blood. It’s unbearably warm and he’d like nothing more than to climb into the other Forgemaster like a cool bath.

“Yes,” Hector says, a little hoarse. “I’ll let you.”

“Good.” Isaac looks at him for a long moment, eyes communicating his intent.

Hector nods.

The press of their mouths together is chaste at first. Isaac grips Hector’s waist and angles his head so that they fit together perfectly.

Hector sighs sweetly, his body relaxing into the pressure. His lips are smooth and taste faintly of the wine he had before arriving. With Carmilla perhaps? Isaac licks across the bottom one and sucks it between his, earning a groan.

Hector’s inexperience is obvious, but he catches on quickly, reciprocating each gesture as he learns it.

The shy slide of his tongue is irresistible.

Burgeoning arousal tenting his pants, Isaac slides a hand up to fist in Hector’s hair, tugging until he makes a kittenish sound. They lose themselves in the slick battle of lips and teeth, eating at each other as their desire demands. 

Hours or minutes later, Isaac remembers his objective and parts them enough to take separate breaths. Hector digs his nails briefly into his chest, blinking slowly at him. His lips are still wet and parted like an invitation.

“Go,” Isaac grates, releasing him. “Before I take you on the floor.”

Hector inhales hard, fingers tensing again against his flesh.

“You mean you don’t want to fuck me today?”

The answering flare in Isaac’s eyes could melt frost. “Go,” he repeats.

“A- alright,” Hector replies, stuttering slightly at the sudden briskness of his tone. He tears himself away, stumbling back toward the door. “I’ll see you later.”

"Tomorrow."

Hector's confusion is plain, but he doesn't stop to argue. 

Isaac watches him flee and takes a calm, clarifying breath. 

“Until then.” 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All mistakes are my own. This one is a bit longer! Thanks for your patience <3

With anyone else, Isaac would make certain assumptions about the pace and progression of physical intimacy. With Hector’s inexperience it doesn’t seem safe to assume anything.

“Do you want to come in?” Hector asks. He keeps his eyes fixed on the re-animated creature rising from his slab.

Isaac smiles and slides out of his casual lean against the door frame.

“If you will have me.”

A grunt of acknowledgement.

Isaac accepts the inelegant reply as an affirmative and enters the forge, hands held discreetly behind his back. He doesn’t mistake Hector’s inattentiveness for rudeness. On the contrary, he's entered precisely at this time to watch him work.

His colleague’s commitment to their craft is admirable and there is much to be learned from his technique. Still, he cannot contain the toe-curling pleasure he feels at the growing stiffness of Hector's shoulders.

Seconds turn over to minutes. The deliberate silence between them smacks of self-preservation.

Patiently, Isaac watches Hector tame Dracula’s newest demon. He makes no comment on Hector's apparent coddling of the beast, he just observes.

Eventually, the night creature ceases it’s frantic pacing and slinks away.

“We really should discuss our plans for advancement,” Hector says, clutching the flimsy pretext of professionalism to him for protection. He still hasn’t turned around.

“Mmm.” Isaac rests a hand on Hector’s shoulder, graciously ignoring his jump of fright. Few are comfortable with his ability to move without sound. “Not yet,” he says. It’s not a command but his tone is firm. “I have brought something else that requires your attention.”

Hand trailing heat from one shoulder to the other, Isaac passes behind Hector and lays his hidden offering on the table.

Hector shifts slowly to regard the cold lump of feathers and stares, unblinking, as if seeing a sparrow for the first time. His hands curl into fists at his sides.

“That’s not for me, right?”

“Of course it is.”

Hector’s nose twitches, his face a rictus of some unnamed emotion. “You don’t have to do that.”

“Do you not like it?” Isaac asks.

The question is enough to have Hector reaching toward the table. His graceful fingers steal over the bird's feathers in halting millimeters, feeling for wounds where there are none—at least externally. The bird had flown into a castle window.

“Yes,” Hector answers, taking an uneven breath under Isaac’s watchful gaze. “I like it.” A muscle in his neck goes taut as he braces himself for the slap of a hand or cruel words.

Isaac fights not to sneer. He will have to break Hector of the habit; show him that liking things does not mean they will be taken away or that he will be punished.

Not anymore. Not ever again.

The reminder of their shared past makes Isaac impetuous. He crowds close to Hector, relishing his squeak of surprise. Hector shivers when he hooks his chin over his shoulder and brings his lips to his ear.

“Show me,” Isaac murmurs, voice pitched deep in a growl. He slowly curls an arm around Hector’s waist, hand falling to press low against his belly. A thrumming warmth radiates outward from Isaac’s palm, coaxing Hector’s magic from the centre of him. “I want to watch you do it.”

The _it_ is obvious, but his words carry enough innuendo to have Hector’s face burning.

It’s not compulsion, Isaac isn’t capable of such magics. It’s just energy sharing. Like calling to like.

_Intimacy._

Hector’s breath rattles from his lungs in an unmistakably erotic sound. “Now?”

“Yes.”

The blue flames that leap from Hector’s hands are dazzling. They engulf the bird’s body in light and shadow, every cell igniting with Hector’s will. 

Isaac doesn’t let up on his embrace. He steadily increases the flow of his energy into Hector until the workshop is swirling with red and blue hellfire.

Hector’s pupils are dilated, completely drugged on the surge of power. His cock hardens in his pants, straining and shifting so that the tip of it is there just under Isaac’s hand if he cared to look. He doesn’t look though; he ignores Hector’s arousal, eyes focused on his face and the rapture there. 

Isaac absorbs him. The wide, soft poet’s mouth and long-lashed eyes. Hair that is pale silver-gray, waving in the humidity generated by their storm. Olive skin stretched over high cheekbones made sharp by the stress of subterfuge.

The first day Isaac saw Hector, he wasn’t sure if he wanted to stab him for stealing Dracula’s attention or fuck him for daring to be so finely made.

But Hector had wanted to be friends. He’d had the audacity to look Isaac in the eye and shake his hand.

Like he was equal.

Respected.

The only honorable choice was to accept his olive branch.

This…disloyalty Hector’s considering with Carmilla is the perfect opportunity to snatch them back from the polite indifference they’ve settled into. 

Hector shifts, his ungloved hand coming to clench over Isaac’s, holding it harder against himself.

It’s too much. It’s not even remotely enough. Hector completes the reanimation and the circuit between their bodies crackles and lets go. The release of potential energy splinters a wooden chair and two glass bottles.

"Holy fuck," Hector pants.

The sparrow surges to life with a flutter of wings and a chirp, landing on it’s feet before taking off to fly above their heads.

“Beautiful.” Isaac doesn’t mean the bird.

“What were you doing to me?” Hector asks, and it’s not an accusation. It’s wondering and bereft as if he didn’t want it to stop.

Isaac’s fingers flex in a mime of comfort. “There are two types of connection in this world. Relationships that give you power and those that show you power you already possess.” He nips playfully at the blotchy skin on the side of Hector’s neck and pulls away.

Hector inhales harshly and spins to face him, his movements made clumsy from the residual head rush.

“A simple meld of our magics,” Isaac explains. “The effects will wear off shortly.”

Hector moves to press a hand against his cock, sill hard and trapped in his pants, but Isaac catches it before he can make contact. He squeezes lightly as reprimand and raises an eyebrow, watching with rapt attention as Hector frowns.

It’s a good look on him, denial.

“You wished to speak about our plans for advancement?” Isaac asks.

“Please.” It’s a plea for many things, none of which are a viable war strategy. Hector knows it. Isaac knows it. But Hector clears his throat, pulling the tattered remains of his rectitude around him, and Isaac drops his hand.

“What do you want, Hector?”

“I want to present a united front,” Hector says. He wipes a bead of sweat from his forehead and shrugs. He looks like he’s blurring around the edges, unspooled by his unfulfilled lust.

Isaac couldn't be happier. He wants him off base and desperate.

Seduction is as much about pursuing your quarry as driving them to pursue you.

“I think we should go to Brăila,” Hector continues. “I agree with Carmilla that great victory awaits us if we seal the ports. The invasion would be quick and merciful. Straightforward.”

Isaac hums, noncommittal.

He will have to be careful here. Hector may have a child’s perspective of the war, but he is not stupid. Dracula has his methods for swaying him, but Isaac knows that, in this instance, logic will serve better than lies. A person who burns their own parents alive is a pragmatist, not an idealist.

“Did you know that a common way they torture men in the desert is with a rat and a metal bucket?”

Hector sighs, tilting his head. “And _what_ exactly does that have to do with anything?”

Frustration has made him bratty. Interesting. Isaac ignores his tone, for now.

“A man may be tied supine in the sand with all four limbs restrained. The bucket, with the rat inside, would be pressed to his stomach and weighted in place with a stone. By mid-day, the walls of the bucket will have reached an excruciating temperature.” Isaac watches Hector turn that statement over, his eyes widening as he catches on. “The rat begins to panic. If it cannot breach the metal, it will take the path of least resistance out.”

“Through the stomach,” Hector says. He looks a little queasy now.

“Yes,” Isaac grits. “I imagine it would be much the same with humans. Seal the population of Brăila in a bucket, and they will cut a path out through the surrounding areas. There will be no order or mercy when they rampage.”

Hector's white glove creaks as his hand spasms into a fist, a sure sign that he’s listening if not softening. Isaac strikes his final blow, “It is not a cull if everybody dies.”

Hector deflates slightly, fist once again relaxing at his side. “I know.”

Isaac lifts a hand to his face—curling it around the cut of Hector's cheek, which Hector seems to like—and sighs. Hector leans into the touch like a cat who’s gone weeks without affection, all but burying his nose in Isaac’s wrist.

“Think on it,” Isaac says. He examines the purple bruising under Hector’s eyes and adds, “You look tired. You should rest.”

He makes to leave, but Hector stops him with a kiss to the heel of his palm. One blue eye peeks out at Isaac, the other still shielded by the bulk of his hand.

“Did that happen to you?” Hector whispers. His lips glide so softly over Isaac’s skin that Isaac has to bite back a groan.

Precious boy.

“No,” he says, thumb caressing Hector’s zygomatic. “I was much more valuable with my bowels intact.”

Hector shudders, relieved or shaken, and the sparrow lands on his shoulder, pecking gently at his tunic.

Isaac withdraws successfully this time and smiles, letting Hector know that he hasn’t offended him.

“Argeș or Brăila. Come find me when you have decided.”

~

It doesn’t take Hector long. He comes to Isaac when he’s meditating.

The sun has not yet hidden itself entirely behind the castle, so Isaac’s quarters are filled with warm shafts of light. They dapple his skin with gold and make glittering jewels of the fresh wounds on his back.

Hector has the sense to remove his boots before entering Isaac’s space and pads on bare feet to sit quietly behind him. His clothing rustles as he shifts, no doubt struggling to reconcile the shelves filled with plants and poetry books.

Isaac imagines Hector’s mouth opening and closing like a fish, wanting to ask but too scared to disturb him.

His lips to twitch.

Visitors are often surprised that his room isn't spartan. They mistake his devoutness for self-abnegation. He pities their narrow-mindedness, especially when they assume that he abstains from sex. 

Bitterness coating his tongue, Isaac swallows and centers his attention on the gentle movement of his lungs.

Twenty minutes pass before Hector cracks.

Long fingers slip up Isaac’s back, tracing gently around his weeping skin, willing the lacerations to heal.

Isaac has Hector on his back and a hand holding his wrists above his head before he can make a second circuit. He crowds his hips between Hector’s knees and tightens his grasp enough that Hector stops before he starts to struggle. 

“No.”

Hector blinks at him, shocked, and it clicks. Like a child realizing they’ve made a mistake, he lowers his eyes and bites his lip. “Forgive me. I won’t do it again. Unless you give your permission.”

Isaac examines his regretful expression and rumbles. “Good boy.”

The effect is immediate. Hector gasps, cock hardening helplessly as his body tenses underneath Isaac’s weight.

Isaac kisses him lightly, as a reward, and tucks his grey hair behind his ear with his free hand. “What have you come to tell me, Crocus?” he asks. “Tell me quickly and I might let you get off.”

Hector speaks with raw need.

“I—We should continue our siege on Argeș.” His Adam’s apple bobs with the effort. “You’re right. Carmilla’s plan will only bring more death.”

Isaac’s own hardness throbs at the words. He grinds down against Hector until he’s squirming and then pins him more firmly in place. “I am pleased we have reached an agreement.” His eyes rove from Hector’s face and fixate on his décolletage. 

The loose shirt Hector’s wearing provides a tantalizing view of his collarbones. It’s an unexpected treat. As generals, they’re rarely without their bracers and breastplates.

The urge to mark has Isaac ducking his head. He sucks the sweat from the hollow above the bone and scrapes Hector with his teeth.

Hector whimpers, over-loud in the quiet of the room. “Put your teeth in me. Please.”

There is not a force in this world that will keep Isaac from claiming this boy.

“You invite the wolf to your throat?” he hisses. He bites hard enough to raise a welt.

Hector goes _rigid_ , and Isaac thinks, for a second, that he’s come from that alone.

“Were I a practitioner of skin-magic, I would cover you with runes.” He bites again and suckles until the skin is inflamed. Hector sobs, at his wits' end, and writhes under the restraint of his hands.

“Please,” Hector says. “I need to come, I can’t take it anymore, please—”

“You beg so sweetly, Crocus.” Isaac shifts so that just his thigh is between Hector’s legs. “Move,” he urges. “Show me how beautiful you are when you orgasm.”

Hector’s eyes are shiny and bright. He makes a little broken sound and complies, humping his newly freed hips up into Isaac’s leg.

He looks even better than Isaac imagined.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Hector swears. His eyes flutter shut as he works himself to the edge. Pre-come leaks from his cock to wet his pants and Isaac’s. His lips are puffy and red, swollen from his own nibbling.

Isaac kisses him spit slick and senseless. “That’s it,” he coaxes. “Just like that.”

Hector’s breath hitches, his core and thighs flexing with his movements. Isaac snakes his fingers between them and pinches his nipple, twisting slightly.

Hector’s eyes fly open. "Oh, God."

He comes, gasping and trembling, the scent of his release welling sharp in the air.

“Yes, Hector.” Isaac’s voice is thick and slow, savouring. He releases Hector in stages, fingers unwrapping from his wrists and body shifting to lay at his side.

Hector stretches, loose-limbed with heavy lidded eyes, and folds his hands into his chest. The loss of heat makes him shiver. He rolls into Isaac, mouth pinched in a moue of distaste. “S’cold,” he slurs.

He’s cute in this mood. Isaac chuckles and pets his hair. “Fair Hector," he croons. "You’ve shamed the sun into hiding.” The sun had indeed gone down during their activities. Isaac's candles are the only thing still casting heat in the space. Hector burrows closer at the comment, hiding his face so Isaac can’t see his blush of embarrassment. His desire for more body heat soon has him sliding a leg over Isaac’s hip.

Hector starts when his thigh brushes against something firm. “Did you not…” he trails off awkwardly, reaching for the front of Isaac’s pants.

Isaac catches his fingers and kisses the whorls on each tip. “I sought no pleasure but your undoing.”

Hector tips his head back, searching for the truth in his eyes. “If you’re sure,” he says. His tone is unconvinced.

Isaac squeezes him tight, a hand raising more or less of it’s own accord to cradle the back of Hector’s head. “I will take my release when you are ready for my cock and not a moment before.”

Hector sucks in a hard breath. As is his habit, his hands curl to knead against Isaac’s chest. “I don’t know If I’ll survive it,” he says honestly. It startles a guffaw from Isaac, his smile slashing wide across his face.

Hector gapes. "I don't think I've heard you laugh before."

Isaac chortles some more and kisses his forehead, guiding him back under his chin. "Perhaps you bring it out in me." 

Hector yawns into the curve of his neck. "I don't know if I should be flattered or insulted."

"Sleep now," Isaac murmurs. "You can try tickling me later."

“Okay.”

Hector relaxes and lets himself drift. After a minute he tenses again. “Your back,” he mumbles, eyes trying and failing to open.

Isaac clucks his tongue. “Sleep.” He does not tell him that the mat under their backs is much more soothing to his cuts than sand. When Hector’s snoring softly, he stands and carries him to bed.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Skipping gleefully into more of the Dom/Sub dynamic. It's more under-negotiated than I usually write, but Isaac takes care to check in with Hector throughout. Warning that this chapter is 99% smut. Plot development? Don't know her.
> 
> Hector is blatantly painted as a boyish twink here. If you're not into that, this isn't for you.

Isaac finds that he’s particularly fond of waking Hector with slow, sleep warm kisses and a hand curled around the plump half-erection between his legs. The sight of Hector stretched out in his bed—endlessly long limbs heavy with unconsciousness and mouth cherry red from the night before—is too tempting to manage.

Hector yields beautifully to his stroking, his strange silver-grey lashes flittering to wakefulness as he’s urged gently onto his back, thighs spread.

“Please,” Hector cries, eyes screwed shut as Isaac takes him into his mouth. “Please _._ ”

Hector whines a lot.

Begs.

Pleads with Isaac to leave fingerprints and scratches, indentations on the curves of his hipbones, his waist, his ribs.

And Isaac gives them to him, gives Hector what he asks for and more because he likes him. Likes him even with all of the duplicity between them. Likes how he vacillates between coldblooded and nurturing. Likes the ruthlessly checked, deeply buried, threat of explosion at the heart of him.

_“Isaac—”_

The rush of Hector’s seed tastes like victory and Isaac swallows it like a strengthening potion.

He coils around Hector after, holds him tight in his arms, and whispers all the ways that he’s going to ruin him.

~

“Will I see you this afternoon?” Hector asks, standing up and stretching his arms above his head. A trace of saliva still shines on his inner thigh. “I have a new wagon full of bodies to tend to.”

Isaac grunts and rolls his shoulders, securing the last button on his coat. “No, I’m leading a search party for Godbrand,” he says blankly. “Carmilla insisted.”

Hector freezes, back still slightly arched, hips tilted forward.

“You killed him.”

Ah.

Isaac supposes it was inevitable that Hector would figure that one out. He wonders, dimly, what gave him away.

“Your eyebrows,” Hector says, arms dropping to his sides, calm and composed like they aren’t discussing murder. “There’s a slight difference between jovial and pissed off.”

Isaac quirks said brows. “Are you going to unveil my treachery, Crocus?”

It’s underhanded to use the pet name but Isaac’s never claimed to play fair.

Hector licks his lips in retaliation. He chokes out a laugh, only a little bit strangled when Isaac crosses the room and winds an arm around his waist. “What, so I can be next?” he asks tartly, delightfully caustic. “No thank you.” He shivers, his toes curling at the feel of Isaac’s smile against the curve of his neck. “An intelligent person would use the knowledge for leverage.”

“You plan to extort me for something?” Isaac purrs, inordinately pleased. He swipes a thumb over a purpling bruise at the small of Hector’s back. “What is it that you desire then, sweeting?”

Hector chances a look up, his gaze meeting Isaac’s. The air in the room seems to evaporate.

“Y—you said that you’d seduce me,” Hector mumbles, his voice cracking with anxiety. His cheeks flood abruptly with colour. “That you’d take my virginity.”

Isaac’s grin is wolfish. Hector looks a bit dazzled.

“You would still let me have it?”

“You know I would.”

Isaac thinks about that. About Hector’s enthusiastic submission. He slips his hands around to cup the globes of Hector’s ass, callused fingers curling in to prod at his entrance. Hector’s in-drawn breath is loud.

“You think you’re ready for that, Hector?” Isaac rumbles, tight and close. “You think you can take my cock whatever way I choose?”

Hands dig into Isaac’s coat, wet lips brushing his ear in what would be an obvious tease if Hector weren’t trembling. “Yes, Isaac. I swear it.”

“Then you may claim your price.”

~

Isaac’s instructions are simple:

After his work is finished, Hector is to bathe himself with the rich olive oil Isaac slips into his hand.

 _Another gift for my Rhodesian flower_.

He is to practice fitting his fingers into his ass— _no touching your cock—_ and be ready, naked and kneeling at the side of Isaac’s bed when he returns.

_A guard will ride ahead with news of the search party. If you are not where I expect to find you, there will be consequences._

~

It’s with no small amount of anticipation that Isaac strides through the darkened halls of the castle, backside and legs aching from a long day of riding.

They’d discovered nothing—as anticipated—and Carmilla had been nearly incandescent with rage. Or perhaps it was the lingering scent of Hector on Isaac’s person that set her off? Isaac won’t pretend to know.

The sight that greets him when he enters his room is enough to make more disciplined men than Isaac swoon.

He bolts the door.

Hector is there. Naked. On his knees. Eyes downcast and body still despite the tension in his broad shoulders.

His skin gleams where it’s been scrubbed clean and polished with the oil, the expanse of tanned muscle inviting Isaac to _mark_ , claim.

Isaac’s fingers twitch against his leathers and he gives into the urge to step forward and cradle Hector’s chin.

“Did you complete your task, Crocus?" he asks.

“Yes, Isaac," Hector says. His jaw flexes in Isaac’s hand. “I managed two.” The angry bob of his cock above his corded thighs is enough to convince Isaac that he didn’t violate the no touching rule.

Isaac hums, savouring the softness of Hector’s hairless cheek. “Good boy.”

Hector presses into his palm, practically vibrating now with the need for contact. Isaac checks his eyes for any signs that he isn’t as willing as he appears, noting that his blue gaze is already slightly unfocused. 

“Are you ready?” 

Hector's response is emphatic, impatient. _“Yes.”_

“If you choose to leave, I will not follow. You may say stop at any point.”

“I trust you.”

It’s startling, how those three words fill Isaac with cloying tenderness that he’s a little afraid of.

This boy.

What a terrible weakness he’s become.

“On the bed,” Isaac says, before sentiment can overtake him and he spends the night caressing Hector instead.

Hector rises to his feet a little clumsily, unused to the pins and needles that come with kneeling, and gingerly climbs onto the bed. The sharp gasp he lets out as he gets a knee up confirms his success in the bath.

Isaac sheds his armour, his sash, his long black coat, and unbuttons his pants. Hector waits for him on his forearms and knees in the center of the mattress, ass raised invitingly in the air.

Isaac retrieves the second vial of oil he had brought in special from the nearest port and joins him on the bed.

His leathers creak with the movement.

The contrast between Isaac's semi-clothed state and Hector’s nakedness is exquisite.

“Um,” Hector blurts out, squirmy and very, very obviously nervous. “Is—I’ve read that it can hurt?”

Isaac chuckles. “It sounds like you’re not reading the right sort of books.” He gets a hand in Hector’s hair and pushes him face-first into the bed, bending his whole torso over Hector’s back to speak directly into his ear. “Stop thinking. Your only concern is to feel.”

Isaac releases Hector’s strands and rears back, smoothing his hands over the round weight of his ass. He massages for a few minutes, fingers kneading at a couple of knots near the apex of Hector’s buttocks and farther down near his coccyx.

"Relax, sweet boy."

Hector groans. Slowly, he becomes more and more pliant, his body eventually slumping into the mattress, bones liquid.

Certain Hector won't flinch, Isaac dips his thumbs in to pull Hector’s cheeks apart, revealing his oil soft pucker. 

“I’m going to touch you now.”

It’s the only warning Hector gets before Isaac’s licking over him, spearing at the tight, rounded flesh with his tongue.

Hector wails.

_“Oh my god.”_

Isaac’s unyielding. He eats at Hector until he’s rocking into his face, hips stirring with the simultaneous need to fuck back into his mouth and thrust.

“Isaac!”

“Hands above your head,” Isaac says when he catches Hector going for his cock. He rises up to press the delicate bones of Hector’s wrists and his silver topped head back into the bed. “Stay.”

“Please, Isaac. I need—”

Isaac cuts Hector off with a stinging slap to his ass.

_“Auugh!”_

“You will not come until you’re given permission.”

Hector goes quiet, burning with mortification as Isaac pets over his reddened skin.

“How prettily you colour under my hand," Isaac says, admiring the welt he’s raised with his palm. Short nails flex, forcing a squeak from Hector's lips.

“Are you alright to continue?”

Hector takes a shaky breath. “Yes.”

Isaac slicks up the fingers of one hand.

Time grinds to a halt.

The next few minutes feel like hours, Isaac steadily working at fitting first one, then two, then three digits inside of Hector’s channel. He’s looser than he would have been without his earlier prep, but it’s still a tight fit.

“You were thorough, Crocus. I can feel how you’ve opened yourself,” Isaac comments, twisting his fingers cruelly, spreading.

Hector mewls, a sweaty mess of a boy, formidable Forgemaster no longer.

Not with Isaac.

“I wonder if you found your sweet spot?”

The lilting question reveals Isaac’s enjoyment. He stretches Hector inside, pulling back until he catches on his rim, and then pushing deep and hard, searching for the firm tissue of Hector's prostate. Hector clamps up like a vise when he finds it, the noises spilling from his open mouth gaining in pitch. The whines are soothing to Isaac’s ears. He wants to see Hector in shambles. See his pretty, pretty face reduced to a crying mess.

The mental image has Isaac’s length jerking where it peeks through the fly of his pants, a pearly drop of fluid glistening at the tip.

“That’s it, Hector. Just a little bit more.”

“Can’t—trying— _please_ —don’t— _I want to be good_.” The words are garbled, slurred desperately through the drool pooling beneath Hector’s cheek.

“Shh, sweeting,” Isaac soothes, leaving off. “You’re doing everything right.”

Isaac pulls himself all the way out of his pants and hastily spills an excess of oil over his shaft. He flips Hector over and crawls between his long legs, hooking Hector's knees over his shoulders and kissing his sticky, crumpled face. 

“Look at you. Helpless with it."

Hector shuts his eyes against the words, lips and belly quivering with a shiver of humiliation. “Please," he moans.

“Breathe for me," Isaac says. He tucks his broad head against Hector’s entrance, gaze riveted as Hector cries out, shaking at the contact. Hector manages a slight nod and Isaac presses the tip inside.

_“Fuck!”_

Isaac echos the sentiment with a growl, becoming more beast than man as the entire crown disappears past Hector’s ring. He gnashes his teeth before he can delve farther, letting Hector adjust to the pressure.

Shallow gasps reverberate off of the castle walls.

“It won’t fit,” Hector cries, tears dripping down his temples. “You’ll tear me in half.” He tosses his head fitfully, body doing it’s best to push Isaac out.

“You can take it,” Isaac promises, mindless with the squeeze. “Don’t fight me,” he bites. “Let me in.”

There’s a pause, both of them panting like they’ve just raced through the halls.

The mattress shifts. Isaac brings his lips to Hector’s, nipping at him softly, sucking slow and sweet until he opens.

With a pained whimper and a flutter of tongue, Hector surrenders.

“That’s it, Crocus,” Isaac praises, raining more kisses on Hector’s face as he eases forward. Deeper. Deeper. _Deep_ , into Hector’s virgin ass. “My good boy.”

Nothing could have prepared Isaac for the feel of Hector yielding for his cock.

Scorching.

Blindingly hot.

Little, confused noises of pleasure-pain are leaking from Hector’s puffy lips. Isaac fits a hand around Hector’s length and pulls him back to full hardness, listening with the ear of a trained musician as the noises shift more toward enjoyment.

Tentatively, Hector begins to move his hips, testing, adapting to the feeling of fullness.

“Alright?”

Hector’s chin jerks in a rough nod. “Can I—I’d like to touch you?” He sounds like a little boy. Small and lost.

“If you’d like.”

Long arms wrap around Isaac’s triceps, fingers skating over the scars on his back like a blind person seeks a familiar notch of wood or stone. Hector tucks his face against Isaac’s neck, bracing, as Isaac draws his hips back and thrusts—

_Paradise._

Isaac hums, a warm, pleased sound. He’s going to live in this boy, he’s never going to leave.

Hector’s back arches like a bow, his breath leaving in a shocked exhale. _“Nnnh.”_

“I’ve got you,” Isaac says, voice low and gravelly. He gives Hector another measured stroke, and fucks in harder, building up the rhythm.

Hector sobs. “You’re so—fuck, it’s—”

Isaac fucks him through it, works and works until his sweat-slick body is steadily slapping the oiled curve of Hector’s ass.

“No going back, Hector.” Isaac clenches his jaw, digging his knees into the bed for more leverage. “You’re mine.”

“Isa, Please!”

The diminutive, muttered unthinkingly, hysterically, notches up the pressure mounting in Isaac’s cock until he’s straddling the precipice of mental and physical collapse. He throbs in time with Hector’s heartbeat, the rush of blood unmistakable through the thin tissues of his passage.

Hissing out a breath, Isaac leans back on his heels, changing the angle to nail Hector’s prostate on each ingress. He runs a hand down Hector’s belly, avoiding Hector's leaking cock, pressing down to feel the shape of his own length.

It's hard to tell where Hector starts and he finishes. The drag, the grip of his body is incredible.

Velvet soft.

Wet.

“You want my spend inside you?” Isaac asks, holding Hector’s glassy stare.

“Yes!”

Isaac feels Hector start to fall apart, his agonized expression transforming into one of ecstasy.

“Beg for it. Ask for my come."

“God, yes!” Hector shouts. He thrashes, ankles crossing behind Isaac’s neck and calves attempting to strangle him. “Please! Please give it to me!”

“Then wring it from me,” Isaac commands, chest heaving. “My good boy.”

He thrusts up, rolling his hips forcibly until Hector’s head is lolling back, his cock jumping against his belly as he comes screaming.

_Cataclysmic._

There’s a crackle of magic in the air. The ozone smell of hellfire igniting around the bed.

Seed paints Hector from his belly button to his chin. Their eyes meet, brown on blown-wide blue, and Isaac lets his own surge of come go, rumbling Hector’s name.

The glass in the lone window bubbles and explodes.

~

Hector welds himself to Isaac’s chest after, once again a clinging silver vine. "I survived," he mutters, soft and triumphant.

Isaac presses a tickling kiss to his cheek, inhaling their mingling scent.

Hector wrinkles his nose like a fussy kitten, batting his face away. "We should probably never do that again," he despairs with a cracking yawn. "Dracula will be cross if the castle burns down."

Isaac laughs.

~

“Do you think there’s a chance that every vampire in castle was afflicted with hearing sickness?” Hector asks a bit later when he's more aware. His lips are curved down in a frown of dismay. He eyes the damage to Isaac’s space, cataloguing the burnt rug, the blackened books and plants, the gaping hole in the wall.

Isaac isn't fussed. He sighs, “I would not be surprised if all of Wallachia were apprised of your despoiling.”

“Oh, fuck off, you bastard,” Hector snaps, looking like he wants to punch Isaac and crawl away to hide under a rock.

Isaac snorts. “So it’s bastard now? What happened to _Isa?_ ”

“He died in the blast.”

Isaac smiles, hopelessly beguiled with the sharp-tongued mess currently trying to wiggle his way across the bed. “I’ll remember that the next time you corner me in the bath.”

Hector rolls over and bites him.

That same cloying tenderness from before flickers in the vicinity of Isaac’s heart. He swallows, just catching Hector’s mumble about cutting off his ear.

~

Treachery most foul befalls Carmilla during the expanded siege on Argeș.

A grass fire engulfs her tent before the other generals can think to act, the strange swirling inferno too strong for her to mist herself out of.

Godbrand’s pin is found in the rubble nearby.

Whispers circulate among the council, some suggesting that the two had been having relations before Godbrand's untimely disappearance. A scheme is suspected.

Hector is the first to propose that Carmilla was playing a dangerous game of seduction.

Uninterested in court intrigue, Dracula rules the incident a murder-suicide.

Isaac is a menacing presence, silently enforcing his master's verdict.

No one mentions his grip on Hector's hand or the crocus—blue in colour and disturbingly cheerful for Isaac’s dour countenance—tucked into his blood red sash.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Check out my dashboard for more Forge Husbands fics!


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